Shadows
by Ailionora
Summary: Severus Snape shares his perception of himself, and the world in which he lives.


**Disclaimer: I'm just a poor student. I own nothing.**

There are shadows in me. Dark, deep, dank shadows, all mine, all me. Always.

Most people will never forget the shadows are there, what they have done. They remind me every day that even someone who has equally embraced their light is still in the darkness. My light, light that is still me, still mine despite the shadows, means nothing because the shadows are there at all. They will not, perhaps cannot, believe better of me, for my past. It threatens their view of reality, of right and wrong, of lines, of boundaries, of perception. They cannot let me forget the consequences of my shadows. These people judge me, and find me wanting, because to them my light cannot exist for the shadows; it has been smothered it and twisted it into darkness as well. They want me to pretend like I have no light at all, because that is easier for them to believe, to understand. They want a clear, dark, detestable me. I try, most of the time, to give them what they want, because it is easier, but it gets so tiresome, sometimes, to always be in the dark.

All they know, all they perceive in me is darkness. They do not see that most people have some shadows. They want to believe that the shadows are all in those like me, that there can be no shadows in other people too, other people they would never imagine with shadows like mine. True, not all shadows are as deep or as dark as mine. Most are lighter, smaller, less significant. But they are there, and still I am treated differently because I have acknowledged my own. These people judge me, and find me wanting, because they believe that by this acknowledgement I have dirtied myself, and they do not wish to be likewise polluted, or to have me pollute those who would otherwise be pure around me. They think I can never be clean, tarnished but bright, blemished but still whole. I try, most of the time, to get them to change their minds. But it gets so tiresome, sometimes, to defend who and what I am, always.

My shadows are as much me as my light. They do not see that it is possible to be shades of grey; they understand only black and white.

Once I found a place where my shadows were embraced by those whose shadows were even deeper and darker than my own. There, my darkness was encouraged and I was allowed to be the darkness of which I am undeniably a part. It was liberating, and exhilarating, to be allowed to be and to say and to do that which the darkness wished, and to avoid, for a time, the consequences of allowing the darkness to reign supreme within me. However, I found, in time, that this darkness was not truly the spirit of my darkness. I am dark and full of shadows, yes, but I am not evil by nature. This place, where at first I had felt so free and unencumbered by society's prejudices, became my prison, perverting my nature to fit the mold of those who held command of my darkness. I was again trapped in a place that had no true understanding of my shadows, of the balance between light and dark within my soul, within every soul.

And so I found a second place, where my shadows were not ignored, but accepted, were not perverted, but manipulated so that despite their previous alteration, they could still fulfill a useful and constructive purpose. In this place, I found the first person for whom my shadows truly meant little. He knew my shadows were there; he knew better than most, but he accepted them, accepted me, nonetheless. He could understand that these grey areas are present in everyone, and he did not shun me that mine were darker than most. He was not uncomfortable with shadows; he did not ask me to hide them, to smother them in the false projected light. He let me create my own safe shadow-land, that I might hide in my darkness to the advantage, but live through the persecution of those who believed themselves untainted. In this place, with this man, I felt that perhaps I might not have to try quite so hard to defend myself and my nature. It was a welcome relief, to be me, all me, just me, always.

I would that I could believe that I may live to see a day in which I would not be persecuted for who I am, despite what I have done, and that others, shadowed as I am, may not have to face each day as divided as I have. I know that I cannot truly believe this, however much I wish it, for life as I have experienced thus far leads me to postulate that this day cannot occur, until this world of harsh lines between right and wrong, between good and bad, between light and dark, between me and them, can learn that not everything is as straightforward and definite as it appears. This day cannot come until they learn to accept these shades of grey.

There are shadows in me: dark, deep, dank shadows, all mine, all me. Always. There is light in me as well. My shadows are as much me as my light. They do not see that it is possible to be shades of grey; they understand only black and white.


End file.
